


Unwritten

by dustofwarfare



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blowjobs, Confessions, Feelings, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, First Time, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Route: Azure Moon, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25408771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: Felix is just as happy as the rest of the Blue Lions that Dimitri is no longer listening to the voices of the dead demanding vengeance, so why can't he stop arguing with everything Dimitri says during war council?The Blue Lions all have a pretty good idea why. Too bad Felix doesn't want to hear it.(Felix and Dimitri confront long-buried feelings before the march to Enbarr, thanks to their friends trying in various ways to make them do exactly that. Some are more successful than others.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 20
Kudos: 166





	Unwritten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MxTicketyBoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxTicketyBoo/gifts).



> Set post-TS, war phase, right before the march to Enbarr. 
> 
> Look I'm sorry for the emotional whiplash, that's what this pairing does to me. 
> 
> Thanks to Mxticketyboo for the beta! That's also who this fic is for, because I wanted to write them some Dimilix :D And then make them beta it, LOL!

Sylvain finds Felix in the dining room after war council, shoving meat skewers into his mouth and ignoring anyone’s half-hearted attempts at conversation. 

Sylvain, though, has years of experience on his side. 

“Hey, Felix,” Sylvain says, hands behind his head, smiling affably at him. 

“No,” Felix mumbles, around his mouthful. He swallows, fixes Sylvain with a sharp look and says, again, “ _no_.” 

“Aw, come on,” Sylvain cajoles. “You don’t even know what I was going to say!” 

Felix picks up his goblet of water. “When has that ever stopped me?” 

Sylvain pauses. “Point,” he concedes. “But this isn’t...I’m not really here to ask you for anything, I just sort of.” He tilts his head, strands of his bright red hair falling over his forehead. “Need to talk to you about something, that’s all.” 

Suspicious, Felix gets to his feet. “What did you do?” 

“Not me this time, buddy,” Sylvain says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You.” 

Felix knows what he’s talking about, of course. The war council meeting, which ended with Felix and Dimitri glaring daggers at each other as they hashed out plans for the upcoming march. 

Not battle tactics, but logistics. Specifically, food. Felix wouldn’t have said he had an opinion on food supplies other than bringing enough so that nobody starved, but that was before Dimitri started participating in councils again. Suddenly, Felix was full of all _sorts_ of opinions. 

“Felix?” 

“Ugh,” says Felix, shoving his chair away from the table. “I just don’t think. We need so much fruit. It spoils too quickly.” 

“Mm,” Sylvain says, in the sort of consoling tone he used when they were kids and Felix was sniffling, pretending he wasn’t crying over something stupid. 

Probably Dimitri. 

“Look, just, I was wondering if you -- Felix,” Sylvain says, again, his consoling tone turning to exasperated, which, also familiar. Felix is heading to the training room -- of course -- and quickly, like if he walks fast enough he’ll be able to vanish entirely. 

Except Sylvain is a tall bastard with the stride of a warhorse, and his usual loping stroll is enough to keep pace. “Felix, you and Dimitri. This is getting a little, uh. Ridiculous.” 

The thing is, Felix can’t argue with that. It is ridiculous. He can’t help it -- after months of watching Dimitri hunched over himself in the cathedral, ignoring the living in favor of making promises to the dead...the fact he can now argue with Dimitri, get a rise out of him about vegetables -- 

Oh, right, it was vegetables, not fruit. 

Either way. It’s as if every single feeling, every thought, that Felix shoved brutally down in favor of watching silently to make sure his idiot king didn’t bellow at the rafters loud enough to bring them down on his head is rising up inside of him, and there’s nowhere else for this to go. 

Everyone probably thinks it’s about Rodrigue, but it isn’t. Felix has made his peace with his father’s death, as much as he can, and he doesn’t blame Dimitri for it. Dimitri didn’t start this war. Rodrigue died in the service of the crown to which he’d pledged his life, and while Felix still had a bevy of unkind thoughts about the entire concept of chivalry, he loved his father enough to know that Rodrigue would never regret giving his life for Dimitri’s. 

And he’d done that, in more ways than one. Saved Dimitri from an assassin’s knife, and saved Dimitri from the darkness that had been threatening to swallow him since Duscur. 

No, this isn’t about his father, or even Dimitri’s attempts to live up to the name Felix had been calling him since their early days at the Academy. This, his inability to let a single thing Dimitri says go without caustic commentary, is because -- 

It’s just. Because. 

“I thought everyone _wanted_ me to talk to him,” Felix says, aware he sounds like he’s five and whining about sharing his toys with Ingrid. 

“Right,” Sylvain says, nodding too many times in a row. “We do. But you should try it, maybe, without the - the glare, like the one you’re giving me now, I’m a lot more used to it than Dimitri.” 

“Sylvain,” Felix snaps, standing by the training room. “Either take up a weapon and spar me, or finish this conversation already.” 

“This isn’t really a conversation, is it?” Sylvain asks. 

For Felix, it is. He crosses his arms over his chest and waits. 

“Fine!” Sylvain runs his fingers through his artfully tousled hair. “You want the truth?” 

“The truth of _what_? Yes, I’m arguing with Dimitri! Everyone likes to remind me that I’m the Duke, now, and that I should take an interest in politics and --” 

“Vegetables?” Sylvain says, over him. He gives a low whistle when Felix turns on his heel. “Sorry, but you know I’m right even if I know you’d rather stab yourself with your sword than admit it.” 

“I’d rather stab someone with my sword, but it’s not me,” Felix agrees, nose in the air. “Are you coming in or not?” 

“No, constant training is your coping mechanism, not mine.” 

“At least I’m good at mine,” says Felix, which in hindsight, is probably not very nice. Or true, given the gossip he’s heard. 

“Ouch.” Sylvain doesn’t sound bothered, but Felix turns around to make sure -- Sylvain doesn’t ever sound bothered, that’s not his tell when he’s upset -- but instead of that empty little smile and glazed copper stare, he looks...amused? “But you know, speaking of...you might want to take a page out of my book when it comes to Dimitri, Felix.” 

Felix inhales sharply, glancing away. “I have no idea what you mean.” 

“Yeah, you do,” Sylvain says. “You know exactly what I mean. You’ve had a thing for him since forever, and you should probably work that out.” 

“I can’t agree with him about _cucumbers_ , Sylvain, what makes you think --” Felix scowls as Sylvain snickers into his fist. “Are you, what, fifteen?” 

“Are _you_? Sure seems like you’re doing that thing where you pull someone’s hair to show you like them, Felix.”

“I’ve never pulled anyone’s hair a day in my life,” Felix says. Well, maybe he’s pulled Dimitri’s. In certain thoughts he’s had. But that doesn’t count. “It’s fine. Go away.” 

Sylvain throws his hands up in the air, takes a step back. “All right, all right. I said I’d try, and I did. I know how you are. I told them it wouldn’t work.” 

“You’re right, I’m not some instrument to be played like a -- wait.” Felix steps toward Sylvain’s retreating figure. “Told who, what?” 

Sylvain smiles like a fox and winks at him. “Oh, you’ll see. Should’ve listened to me, but, hey. What happens when a frontal attack fails, huh, Felix?” 

“Everyone dies?” 

“If they’re fighting alone, sure,” Sylvain’s grin is tired but genuine, brightening his eyes like a sunset. “But here’s the thing, Mr. Lone Wolf. You’re not, and neither am I.” 

“The only thing I’m getting out of this is that you need remedial tactics classes with the professor.” 

“We’ll see.” Sylvain waves. “Have fun training, Felix.” 

Felix stares at him, then shrugs and turns to go into the training hall. He still doesn’t understand why arguing with Dimitri about vegetables means anything about -- anything. Everyone’s always on Felix’s case to treat Dimitri like the king, well, what did they expect? That he’d stop arguing? Have they _met_ Felix? 

It’s probably not the rest of them. It’s probably just Sylvain. He always did hate conflict when they were younger, when Ingrid would get mad at Felix for playing with her toys without asking, or Felix would be mad at Dimitri for daring to have something else to do that didn’t include Felix. 

“This is ridiculous,” Felix says, to the training dummy. He draws his sword, takes a deep breath, and lets himself fall into his forms. No point in dwelling on it. They had a war to fight. 

***  
In the next couple of days, Felix realizes fairly quickly that no, it’s not just Sylvain. 

Mercedes calls out to him from the greenhouse, where she’s planting flowers. “Oh, Felix!” 

Mercedes is a genuinely sweet person, but Felix is in no mood to be treated like her little brother again. Especially not now that they all know who her little brother _is_. “I’m busy.” 

“That’s all right,” Mercedes says, standing, wiping her earth-covered hands on her apron. “It’ll only take a moment.” 

“What will?” Felix asks, glancing around. What can she possibly want from him? To carry something? Mercedes is strong, he’s seen her haul full-grown soldiers off the battlefield to the healer’s tent. No way does she need _him_ to lug a bag of soil from the shed. 

“I’m so glad that Dimitri’s feeling better, aren’t you?” she asks, which isn’t an answer. 

“I’m glad he’s not muttering like a madman and talking to the dead, it’s about time he started acting like a king instead of the boar prince, yes. Is that all?” 

Mercedes beams. “I thought you would say that. I did tell Sylvain that’s why you were so, ah, passionate in council yesterday about the distribution of camp blankets among the battalions.” 

“That’s right.” Felix has no memory of this conversation. He does remember leaning over the table and pointing at Dimitri, who was watching him with that sort of little half-smirk that made Felix want to...argue. About blankets. 

“And I think that it’s nice, you two finally being able to work through your feelings,” she says, very earnestly. 

“My feelings about blankets,” Felix says. 

“Mmhm. Felix, maybe you should try kissing him.” Mercedes beams at him, hands clasped. “When Annie and I were arguing, it worked for us!” 

Felix stares at her, trying to process what he’s hearing. “I. You think I should -- wait, you and Annette?” 

“Oh, dear,” Mercedes sighs. “Sylvain was right, you really are clueless. You do know how to kiss someone, don’t you?” 

“What does this have to do with blankets,” Felix asks, from behind his teeth. 

“Blankets? I’m afraid not much, unless you’re planning on taking things outside, in which case, there’s a lovely romantic spot out near the lake to the west of stables where the pegasus riders keep their mounts.” 

Felix rubs at his temple. “Can I just carry a bag of soil for you, or something?” 

“Well, if you’d like, sure! I could always use more soil for the plants.” She hooks her arm in his and forcibly turns them, heading toward the gardening shed. “We’ll get the kind for the cacti. They’re prickly, but if you tend them carefully, they have the most beautiful flowers. Did you know that?” 

“Yes,” says Felix. “But most of them don’t have flowers, just spines. And they. Sit there in the ground, and wait for you to not pay attention to where you’re going so they can stick you.” 

She gives a little frown and says, “You’re not very good at metaphors, Felix. But that’s all right. Just try kissing Dimitri and see what happens.” 

He almost, _almost_ asks her why everyone thinks he wants to kiss Dimitri. But he’s not sure he can actually make himself do that. 

There is one person he can ask, though. 

***  
“Do you think I want to kiss Dimitri?” 

Byleth blinks wide, soft mint-green eyes at Felix across the tea table. He pushes a cup of steaming Almyran Pine over toward him, along with the one savory pastry in existence that Felix likes. 

“Because I think everyone -- well, Sylvain and Mercedes -- think I want to kiss him.” Felix’s face is on fire. He tries hiding it in the steam of his perfectly brewed tea. 

Byleth nods, studying him like a battle map. “What do you think?” 

Felix opens his mouth to say _I think everyone’s crazy_ , but instead what comes out is, “Just because I argue with him about cucumbers and blankets doesn’t mean I want to -- to do that.” He stares at Byleth. 

Byleth sips his tea and stares back. 

Felix nods. “See, you understand.” He takes a bite of his pastry. 

Byleth very slowly pushes something across the table at him. A ceremonial sword. Felix frowns. “You gave me four of these already, professor.” It’s hard not to call Byleth that, even though Felix doesn’t really think of him as a professor anymore. 

“Did I?” Byleth smiles serenely. “I must have forgotten. Oh, well. Perhaps there’s someone you know who might like it.” 

Felix narrows his eyes suspiciously. “The blacksmith?” 

“If you like,” Byleth says. “You can sharpen it, or you can make a gift of it. It’s entirely up to you.” 

Felix narrows his eyes, trying to decide if this is practical advice, an obscure metaphor about -- Goddess, no -- _dating_ from a man who Felix swears he saw _flirting_ with the Death Knight on the battlefield, or what. 

In the end, he puts the sword in his room with the others. Dimitri fights with polearms. What use does he have for a ceremonial sword? They’re not even used in battle. They’re just pretty, sharp things meant to be polished and adored and displayed. 

That’s all. 

***  
“Felix, if you insist on arguing with me about this, I’m afraid we’ll all be here for much longer,” Dimitri says, his eye narrowed. “I think the rest of our companions would prefer dinner over a continued discussion of your feelings on how to best organize our convoy supplies.” 

“I would actually prefer _anything_ to that,” says Annette. “Literally anything.” 

Felix shoots her a glare. Traitor. 

She smiles weakly at him. “I’m sorry, Felix! It’s just. We’ve been in here a _really_ long time, and I’m hungry!” 

“You aren’t even really arguing,” Ingrid points out, rolling her eyes. “You’re just trying to argue, and honestly? That’s worse.” 

Felix is doing no such thing. He falls back in his seat, crosses his arms, tilts his face up. He says nothing, though his eyes flicker to where he can _feel_ Dimitri staring at him. It’s like a touch on his skin, visceral and hot, like a battle wound. 

There’s something so satisfying about seeing Dimitri like this. Wound up about something like organizing supplies. Not that it isn’t important, every good army needs an organized convoy, but Dimitri’s focus has been on the ethereal demands of his ghosts for so long. Let him worry over the crashingly dull details that have to be smoothed out to move an army across the continent. 

“Felix never has to try very hard to argue,” says Dimitri. “Especially with me.” 

Felix’s hackles go up immediately. “If you weren’t suggesting such a - such a complex way to array the --” 

“No,” says Ingrid, standing up. “No. We’re done.” She looks toward Byleth, like they’re really back in class and Byleth can dismiss them to go weed the garden or something. “We are done, aren’t we?” 

“I think we are,” says Mercedes, rising. “Come on, Annie, let’s go check on the cactus in the greenhouse. I think it might have a flower or two budding.” 

“Finally,” Annette mutters, under her breath. “I can’t take much more of this.” 

Ingrid marches over to him. “He’s your _king_.” 

“I’m aware,” Felix says, eyes straying toward where Dimitri is leaving with Dedue. It’s odd how much easier it is to breathe when he’s gone. Which, isn’t that proof enough Felix doesn’t want to kiss him? 

“I understand, you know. When he would talk about Glenn, I’d...well, I’d be mad, too.” Ingrid doesn’t speak about his brother to him all that often, though really, what is there to say? They’d both loved him, and they’d lost him so long ago, it’s hard to call up his face no matter how hard Felix tries. 

“And I’m...you know I’m sorry about your father. He was always so good to me. Even after….after everything.” Ingrid’s voice drops. “Felix. Why are you so angry at him, still?” 

This is what they don’t understand. Felix _isn’t_ angry at Dimitri. He was angry at him in school, when Dimitri playacted the perfect prince with his polite smile and cold eyes. He was angry when he heard Dimitri was _executed_ because how dare he let that happen? And he was angry when Dimitri raged like a beast, at the idea that he’d survived Duscur and imprisonment and five years of living like an animal just to throw it all away on the end of some imperial soldier’s sword, dying alone in the snow. 

Because Dimitri would have never made it to Enbarr on his own. It would have been a lonely death on a cold battlefield, only the crows to mourn him. Felix would have never known what happened to him.

He doesn’t know why this is so hard to understand. “If I was mad at him, why would I argue about the convoy?” 

“Felix, have you ever _seen_ the convoy?” Ingrid asks. “To even have the first idea how to organize it?” 

“Has _Dimitri_?” Felix retorts because, no, actually, he hasn’t. He’s a front-line infantry fighter and he sleeps with his favorite sword next to his bedroll, his father’s shield nearby in case he needs to fend off an attack in his sleep. Other than an occasional vulnerary or elixir, he doesn’t have much he needs to store. 

Dimitri has a warhorse, but he also refused to bivouac with the rest of the army until recently, so he really has no idea, either. 

“You’re both idiots,” says Ingrid. 

Felix shrugs. “My father used to argue with Lambert in council meetings all the time.” 

“You know what else your father used to do with King Lambert all the time _after_ they argued in council meetings?” Ingrid’s hands are on her hips. “Stop making us endure your awkward flirting and _do_ something about it, already.” 

“Why aren’t you telling _Dimitri_?” Felix asks, pushing to his feet. 

“You think we haven’t? He’s as clueless as you, with the added bonus of feeling too guilty. This is so stupid. I’m not losing this war because you and the king don’t know what sexual tension is.” 

Felix blushes hot to his ears. “That’s -- you’re wrong.” 

“Uh-huh.” She pokes him in the chest, hard. “How about, instead of telling _me_ to find a husband, you find your courage and go tell him how you feel? About -- about him, not disorganized convoy supplies.” 

“So you agree they _are_ disorganized,” says Felix, full of a vague sense of empty triumph. “And I already told you I was sorry about the husband thing. It was four years ago. I was an ass.” 

“Was, huh? I’m done here.” Ingrid shakes her head. “At least I tried. Let’s go get some dinner.” 

***  
Felix has stable duty later that week with Annette -- apparently they really haven’t gotten over the chore assignments, even in war -- and he’s on edge the whole time, waiting for her to weigh in on Dimitri. 

She wants to, he knows she does. Because he was arguing with Dimitri when she got there, something about -- about Dimitri’s warhorse, probably -- and they were standing very close, Dimitri glaring down his nose at Felix, the force of it not lessened by the fact he only had one eye. 

“I think you’re being entirely unreasonable, Felix,” Dimitri said, about the -- thing. They’d been arguing about. 

“That’s rich, coming from you, Boar,” Felix retorted, with the thrill that came from staring up at Dimitri’s face, seeing the _recognition_ there. Honest emotion, even if it’s annoyance. 

“Ooh, uh, am I interrupting?” Annette looked between the two of them like all she wanted in the world was for the answer to be _yes_. 

“Of course not,” Dimitri said, bowing, his voice going gentle. “Felix and I were just discussing stabling on our march. Thank you for seeing to the horses, Annette.” 

“She’s been doing it for years, while you were --” 

“It’s no problem!” Annette squeaked, loudly. “Really, Dimitri. It’s always nice to hang out with Felix, too! He’s so. Ah. Fun?” 

“Fun?” Dimitri glanced at him. 

“Fun,” she said, but like maybe she wasn’t sure. “We always. Have a good time, don’t we, Felix!” 

Before he could say anything to that, Dimitri bowed and left them alone. Felix had stormed over to bale some hay, and now, here they were. 

But Annette isn’t saying anything. She’s just feeding the horses, patting them on their long necks, singing a song under her breath. 

His eyes narrow as he catches the words. 

“Kissy-kiss, the two of you, just kissy-kiss, it’d be so much better than this --” 

“ _Annette_ ,” Felix says, face hot. 

“Hmm? Oh, that’s my new song! Do you like it?” She starts singing it again, louder. “Kissy-kiss, the two of you, just kissy-kiss--” 

Felix wants to clap his hands over his ears. “You don’t usually sing about kissing.” 

“Well, that’s because I’ve been doing a lot more of it, lately,” she says, smiling at him widely. “And it’s wonderful! You should really try it, Felix. Also, maybe you can help me with the next verse.” She leans in, and in a voice he’s never heard from her, before, says, “Do you think _on my knees_ rhymes with _Dimitri, please_ \--” 

“Professor,” Felix says, later, to Byleth. “Please change my weekly chore from stable duty with Annette.” 

Byleth looks up from his book. He frowns a little. “I thought you enjoyed working with her.” 

“I did,” says Felix. 

“Is it the horses?” Byleth asks. 

“No,” says Felix. “It’s. The _singing_.” 

***

Felix is in the library, writing a letter to the battalion master back in Fraldarius and painstakingly keeping it in the cypher he hasn’t used in years (hopefully it will translate as _we need more soldiers_ not _please send fishing floats_ ), when Ashe sidles up to his table. 

“Felix! Hello.” 

“What is it?” He glances at the book Ashe is holding. “Did you need your book back?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, I ...actually have another one, for you.” Ashe glances around like he’s waiting for Seteth to appear and snatch the book away with a disapproving frown. The tips of Ashe’s ears are red. He pushes the book at Felix and leans in close. “It’s, um. I marked the passages you might. Might like? It’s still about Loog and Kyphon, and, ah. I think maybe it’ll help with you and the king.” 

Felix takes the book. “Loog and Kyphon? Also, I don’t need any help. Dimitri and I. We’re fine.” 

“Mmm,” says Ashe, standing up. His cheeks are red. Over a book? Felix already knows he likes fanciful stories about knights. Why’s he embarrassed? “Just, you know, whenever you have time. Maybe give it a quick glance?” 

Felix shrugs and goes back to his letter. By the time he’s given it to a courier to take to Fraldarius, it’s almost time for dinner. Luckily no one tries to make conversation, give him books, lecture him, sing songs, or make vague inappropriate suggestions about Dimitri. 

He piles his plate with his favorite meat skewers and sits at a table near the window, the fading light of the evening sun allowing him to flip through the book. 

Ashe has marked the pages with what appears to be various scraps of cloth pressed between the pages. Felix squints at the first one. 

_Kyphon, I know you have long wanted to be here on your knees for me, swearing fealty._

Does Ashe think he needs to _kneel_ for Dimitri? Felix is a _Fraldarius_. He’s the _duke_. If Dimitri _dares_ question that loyalty, Felix will -- 

_Yes, my king. Let me swear on your scepter, kiss the shining tip of it with my mouth that only wishes to serve you._

Felix has been to Fhirdiad more times than he can count. He’s been in the throne room. He’s seen the king hold court. He’s never once seen a scepter. Maybe it was lost. Maybe they buried Loog with it. Who knows. 

_Yes, Kyphon. Your place is here, on your knees for me, your mouth praising me with such enthusiasm I am nearly overcome from the sight alone --_

Wait. 

Felix slams the book shut, his face on fire. He barely tastes the rest of his dinner. 

***  
When he gets back to his room, he opens the book again. Maybe he was wrong about what he saw. Ashe prizes loyalty, knighthood. Surely it was just...Felix’s imagination. He’s been having dreams, recently. Thoughts when he’s awake. He’s been blaming them on Annette’s song, on Dimitri’s...being Dimitri. 

_Kyphon, my most loyal knight, my heart clenched with terror when I saw you on the battlefield in such danger. Let me reward you for your bravery. Come, join me in the bath and let me tend to you._

“What,” says Felix. He is almost certain Loog and Kyphon never took baths together. People bathe in wooden tubs in Faerghus. They’re not that big, especially if Loog was, like his descendant Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, a man of large and imposing frame. 

Then again. If Kyphon is supposed to be Felix’s _own_ ancestor, maybe that’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility. Felix is nowhere near as large as Dimitri. He’s far more slender, built like a swordsman. It’s possible he could sit in the bath with Dimitri --

What was he doing? 

Felix flips to another section. This one is following another battle, in which Loog is injured by a poisoned arrow that strikes high on his thigh. Which, provided it was a decent shot and hit the correct place, would allow for death in a matter of minutes. 

The archer must have had terrible aim, though, because that’s not what happens in the book. 

_Worry not, my king. I will attend to this. Pray, take your breeches from your person and let me suck you until you are relieved of your discomfort!_

Felix slams the book shut, again. 

Ashe had given Felix pornographic fiction about his and Dimitri’s _ancestors_. Because he thought it would _help_. 

It helps something, later that night, when Felix’s mind is distracted by thoughts of kneeling, scepters, sucking -- damn it all to the fires of Ailell, what was Ashe thinking, giving him this? 

Once Felix is no longer suffering his own discomfort, he looks at the rest of the sections. They’re very similar, but the one at the end gives him pause. 

_I gave you my loyalty and my sword when I gave you my heart, Loog, and that happened ‘ere I ever knelt for you, ‘ere we ever felt the heat of battle burn our skin. And even in those terrible days when the shadows pulled us apart, I knew both my loyalty and my blade were precious to you, kept safe until the day we found each other again. Until the light came back._

Felix stares at this for a long, long time. He reads it over and over again, until he can murmur the words along with the print in the book. Kyphon was always held up as a shining example of the King’s Shield, what every Fraldarius knight should strive to be; loyal, brave, unfailing in their support of their king. 

Felix is not Kyphon. Kyphon would not have left Loog in a kingdom jail. He would never have believed his king executed for treason. Never let him spend five years like a beast in the shadows. 

If that is what Dimitri needs, a knight like Kyphon -- it is not Felix, and it will never be. 

Felix reads the passage one more time, feeling as if the archer from the previous chapter got his lucky shot after all, and hit Kyphon’s bewildered descendant right in his aching heart. 

***  
Dedue is in the kitchen, which is quiet at this hour of the day. Probably why he likes it there. 

“I need to ask you something,” Felix says. “And you’re the only one who will give me an answer I trust.” 

Dedue glances up at him. He’s making something that looks like bread, or a pastry crust; whatever it is, he’s kneading it with careful, measured motions. “Yes?” 

“Dimitri. Is he. Does he.” Felix is tired, he barely slept and they don’t have a lot of time left before they leave on the march. 

He’s run out of things to argue with Dimitri about. And this time, when they leave Garreg Mach, it’ll be to march to Enbarr. It’s entirely possible there will be no reason to argue with Dimitri again, ever. 

“Does His Majesty what, Felix?” Dedue kneads the bread, over and over. There’s a bowl of berries on the floured working surface. Some sugar. Cold butter, and something that looks like cinnamon in a smaller bowl. 

“What is that,” Felix asks, nodding at the table. “That you’re making.” 

“A berry tart,” says Dedue, the muscles in his powerful shoulders shifting as he leans his weight into his task. “For Ashe. He is fond of them.” 

“Ashe,” Felix says, a little stupidly. 

“Yes.” Dedue’s calm voice goes a little chilly. “Is that a problem? Do you have an opinion about whom I choose to share my affections?” 

Felix just -- stares at him. And then, he laughs. “Do you think I have any right to an opinion about that? For you, or - or anyone?” He leans back against one of the tables, watching. “Ashe is a good knight. A loyal one. You could do worse.” Felix meets his gaze evenly. “So could he.” 

Dedue’s eyebrows raise. “I am surprised to hear that. I have never been under the impression you cared much for me, Felix.” 

There is something of a relief in speaking with Dedue, who has never once tried to sugar coat anything but the berries he’s apparently putting in the tart. “I didn’t,” he admits. “I thought your blind loyalty to Dimitri just made him worse. That you - enabled it. You know that. I’ve never made a secret of it.” 

“Do you still think that, then?” 

Felix thinks about it. He’s not one for pretty answers or lies, and Dedue’s loyalty to Dimitri is without question. There’s a pang as Felix thinks if Dimitri has a Kyphon, it’s Dedue, not him. “I think the past is over and done with. All I’ve ever wanted is for him to put it behind him.” 

“I know. And you felt as if I kept him there, anchored in it, when I should not have.” Dedue is quiet for a moment. “And all I have ever wanted is to stand by him and protect him. You speak as if there was only one right way to serve, Felix.” 

That startles Felix. “I’ve read the old stories. About Kyphon, his loyalty to Loog. That’s what is expected of me.” 

“Those are stories. And I thought you said you wished to set aside the past. My loyalty to King Dimitri is born from the fire and the flame, Felix. What he did for me. It is not tradition that dictates it, but my own belief that it is right. Do you see?” 

“Hmph.” Felix crosses his arms, but his gaze is speculative. “Perhaps.” 

“What is it you wished to ask me, then?” 

“Everyone thinks I am angry about my father dying for Dimitri, and that’s why I -- argue with him.” Felix says. “Is that what you think, too?” 

Dedue gives him a look that is deeply and tragically pitying. “Felix. The only people who think that are you and His Majesty. The rest of us, we know the real reason. Now, if you wish to speak with the king, you will find him on the third floor.” 

Felix turns to leave, but pauses by the door and turns around again. “Thank you for saving his life in Fhirdiad.” 

“Your thanks is unnecessary. But appreciated.” A pause. “Perhaps I should clarify what I said before. It isn’t that King Dimitri thinks you hate him because your father died to save him. It’s because His Majesty does not entirely believe, yet, that he was worthy of being saved at all.” 

Felix’s chin goes up. “Then he’s a fool and I’m going to tell him so. I’m not marching to war with a man who has some romantic notion that his death is going to be _meaningful_. Death is just death. My father didn’t die so that Dimitri could wallow.” He adds, softly, “And you did not save his life for him to throw it away, either.” 

“Indeed I did not,” Dedue says. “But life is not like those stories Ashe likes, the ones that end when the sun rises after a great victory. We must see to it that not only does King Dimitri greet the new dawn that awaits, but that he walks into the part that stays unwritten.” 

“Don’t worry,” Felix says. “I didn’t go through all of this to let that idiot die.” 

Dedue laughs, and Felix thinks perhaps it’s the first time he’s ever heard it. “Nor did I. Go see the king, Felix.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” says Felix, entirely without heat, as he goes to do exactly that. 

***

It’s early, just past dawn, when Felix climbs the stairs to the third floor. He is unsurprised to find a greak hulking shadow skulking about the hallway, not in the bed where he should be. 

“I see even now you must be like a beast in the shadows. A waste of a fine bed, I imagine.” 

“Felix,” Dimitri says, low voice a rumble. “Is something amiss?” 

“Many things,” Felix says, approaching him. Dimitri is half-dressed in a loose tunic and pants, barefoot, his shaggy blond hair a mess in his face. For the first time, there’s no sight of the eyepatch. Felix does not ask for permission. He reaches up and pushes Dimitri’s hair back to see the damage. 

Dimitri does nothing, simply lets him look. His missing eye has been replaced with one of glass so the socket doesn’t collapse, and it’s a clear pale blue. Scars bisect it, vicious and deep. 

“What happened?” Feilx asks. Also for the first time. He can’t remember the last time he touched Dimitri. His fingers brush over his scars. It’s hard to speak. “Well? Did some archer mistake you for a boar in truth? Was it some traitor’s knife? An Imperial soldier you tore to pieces with your bare hands, after they dared bloody you?” 

“The last, actually,” Dimitri says. “Does that bother you?” 

Felix studies him, the curve of his jaw, his cheekbones not as sharp now that he’s eating properly again, but still too gaunt for his liking. “It depends. Did you enjoy it?” 

“Yes,” Dimitri says, voice soft. “At the time.” 

“And now?” Felix demands. His thumb brushes the scar. 

“No. I would end this with no more bloodshed if I could.” 

“Why?” Felix demands. “Why now? All those years, that’s all I ever wanted to hear. That you would be a man, a king worthy of your crown. Not an animal to be brought to heel.” 

Dimitri’s mouth curls and he shoves at Felix’s hand away, stepping back. “I know well what I am. I know that I could end this war without another life lost and it would not change the past.” 

Felix wants, for one blissful moment, to drive his fist in Dimitri’s stomach. Only the very real worry that it would break his sword hand keeps him from trying. “I keep telling you, Dimitri. The past is over. I will not ride into war under the banner of a man who thinks the only future worth fighting for is one without him in it.” 

“You think me a beast and are likely not wrong,” Dimitri says, in that tortured sort of way Loog might, prior to his arrow wounds that required Kyphon’s loyal suction to clean. 

“I think you are an idiot and am most certainly right to think so,” says Felix. He doesn’t mean any of that. 

“And that’s why you’re here, is it? Arguing with me, proving my incompetence to our army isn’t enough? You want to make sure I know I’m worthless in private?” 

Felix is not a gregarious man by any means, but Dimitri has managed to shock him into silence so profound he isn’t sure he’ll ever find the words to speak again. 

“Leave me be,” Dimitri says. “I know what you have sacrificed for me to take my place at the front of our army. I will not betray that. I can promise you nothing else.” 

Felix puts his head in his head and laughs. “You really do think that’s what this is about. I’m not arguing with you because I think you’re worthless. Dimitri. You have known me all our lives. Do I bother matching blades with anyone I think beneath my notice? Have I ever?” 

“We’re not talking about sparring, Felix.” Dimitri says. 

“Why would you ever think I’d take to politics any differently than I do swordplay?” Goddess, he’s so -- stupid. And gorgeous. Stupidly gorgeous, also stupid. “Is that what you expect from me as your Shield? Not to challenge you?” 

“I -- what?” Dimitri looks at him, his one eye wide. “No, I never imagined you’d want such a title at all. Not after...everything. Even before your father died.” 

“I don’t know how many times I can tell you, I am not my brother, not my father, not one of your ghosts. I’m me.” He steps in closer. “I stood watch over you in that Cathedral when you spoke to the dead and you ignored me.” 

“So you -- you’re arguing because you wanted my attention?” 

“Yes, you idiot,” Felix growls, though honestly, it’s probably not fair since he just admitted it to himself. “We used to argue all the time when we were younger.” 

“We were six, Felix.” 

“Yes, and then you - Duscur happened, and you pretended you had nary a single feeling, and --” 

“Oh, _I_ did, did I?” Dimitri says, a little louder. “You, who used to cry over everything --” 

“Cried a thousand tears for you that you never saw me shed,” Felix says, and winces at the way Dimitri deflates at that, face going even paler in the muted light of the hallway. “You really do think I hate you.” 

“Yes,” Dimitri says. “I think you have for some time.” 

“I -- might have, once. But it’s _over_ , that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I wouldn’t be here, fighting with you, fighting _for_ you, if I did. Letting all our idiot friends suggest I kiss you to clear the air.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Dimitri says. “What was that?” 

“Our friends think we are harboring some -- unspoken passion for each other, and that is why we argue.” 

“You’re the one doing the arguing, Felix,” Dimitri points out. “In most cases.” 

“No, I was doing all the arguing after Duscur. When we were students here. When I shouted at you in the Cathedral. You’re arguing back, that’s the whole point of the thing.” Felix pauses. “Were you angry at _me_? The truth, Dimitri. Don’t give me platitudes or say you don’t deserve to feel anger, just -- tell me.” 

Dimitri stares at him, unmoving. “I never hated you.” 

“That isn’t what I asked you.” 

“Yes,” Dimitri says. “Yes, I have been angry with you. Before, at the way you treated me. Perhaps not when I was...not myself, in thrall to the ghosts. I was only grateful --” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Felix snarls. 

“I am not, and if you want an answer, you will allow me to give it,” Dimitri says, as waspishly as he snapped back at Felix about the blankets or the horses or whatever else they argued about, hiding their issues in the minutia of war preparations. “I am grateful to all of you who stayed. But yes, it angers me when you argue with me, as I thought it was because you did not think me worthy of command. And yes, perhaps I...should have known that about you, that you would simply not bother but Felix, you could have told me.” 

“I _am_ telling you,” says Felix, hand on his hip, nose in the air. “I’m telling you now.” 

“We march for Enbarr _tomorrow_.” 

“Yes.” Felix sighs. “I don’t hate you, Dimitri. I never did.” _I never could. It would have been easier, maybe._

“I don’t hate you, either,” Dimitri says. “But you do frustrate me. And I suppose I have been angry with you. Now I am simply...unsure. How to fix what has been so long broken.” 

Felix waits for the proverbial easing of his muscles, the weight that’s supposed to lift at the two of them admitting this. 

It doesn’t happen. 

There’s perhaps a _fondness_ mixed in with all his complicated feelings about Dimitri, but while he’s willing to admit to that now, it doesn’t make the tangle of his emotions any less knotted. 

“Ah, forgive me,” says Dimitri. “But if we could, perhaps, revisit the statement you said earlier? About our friends saying we should...should kiss.” 

“Oh, that.” Felix shrugs. “Yes. That’s what they think.” He studies Dimitri. 

Dimitri studies him. 

“Do you want to kiss me,” Dimitri asks. 

Of course he does. Felix has wanted to kiss Dimitri since forever. That’s part of the tangled up mess, and he would have thought it was obvious. But since Dimitri is asking, that must mean it isn’t, and Felix is suddenly unsure what to say. 

“Do you want to kiss _me_?” Felix asks. 

Dimitri steps closer. He’s so tall, now. Was already tall, but he’s put on three inches since the war started, and he’s staring down at Felix with an earnest expression that seems at odds with his wild hair and unkempt appearance. 

Felix’s heart is racing. He tells himself he doesn’t care what Dimitri says, that it won’t matter. But of course he knows that’s wrong. Of course it’s going to matter. 

“I don’t think it’s a particularly good idea,” Dimitri says, softly, and the lack of an eye doesn’t make the intensity of his gaze any less severe. 

Felix’s heart rate doesn’t slow. “That’s not. Not what I asked you.” 

“It’s not what I asked you, either,” says Dimitri, pointedly. “All right. Yes, as it happens, I do want to. But, Felix, we’ve barely spoken in so long, and this is a good start, of course, I’m very grateful, but we --” 

Oh, Goddess, no. Felix cannot handle this. “Yes,” he says, interrupting Dimitri’s painfully earnest monologue. “Yes, I do, also. Want that.” 

Dimitri’s eye widens. Felix can see him swallow. “Oh. Now? Because I really don’t think --” 

Felix can’t handle him anymore. He reaches up, curves his hand around the back of Dimitri’s neck, and pulls him down for a kiss.

“Zis isa gddea,” Dimitri mumbles, against Felix’s mouth. 

Huffy, Felix pushes him away. “ _Dimitri_.” 

“There’s so much we haven’t said. So much between us.” Dimitri’s breath comes faster, his hand reaching out, and when was the last time Felix saw his hands uncovered by his gauntlets? He doesn’t touch Felix’s face, just hovers his scarred fingers in the air between them. “I think you would have an easier time of this, Felix, if my anger was directed at you. But we both know that it isn’t. Not all of it. Not most of it.” 

Felix reaches out and curls his fingers around Dimitri’s, feeling the calluses there. “I know.” Of course he knows that. All of Dimitri’s anger is aimed at himself. 

Felix himself is not immune, either, but he understands this is the problem. They do need to talk. They need to find the way back to each other, and the truth of it is that they don’t have time. 

Ah, well. If Felix is used to anything, it’s being on the offensive. 

Felix brings Dimitri’s hand to his mouth. Dimitri’s fingers are trembling. 

He inhales sharply as Felix presses a soft kiss to his scarred knuckles. “I’m not good at talking, Dimitri. But if we’re going to spar, then let’s. Spar.” 

Dimitri turns his hand, lightly drawing his fingers over Felix’s cheek. “This is the archbishop’s bedroom, Felix. That seems, ah. Perhaps a little. Unwise.” 

“She’s not using it, is she?” 

“Felix,” Dimitri says, though there’s a bit of a smile on his face. 

“Stop talking,” says Felix, and kisses him again. 

Dimitri does stop talking. He kisses Felix back, and it’s like the moment in a fight when you know you’ve won, but the sort of fight that’s for fun -- matching blades with a worthy opponent for the sport of it, not for life or death. He kisses Felix like Felix is the only thing he wants in the world, and those big, strong hands of his curve around Felix’s ass as he pulls him in close. 

Felix, always one for giving as good as he gets (despite this being the first time he’s ever kissed anyone), puts his hands on Dimitri’s broad shoulders and uses all his strength to haul himself up and climb Dimitri like a tree. 

Dimitri, in response, groans into Felix’s mouth and slams him back against the stone of the hallway. Except he puts a hand behind Felix’s head, as if trying to keep him safe even caught up in the passion of their kiss, and that’s so _Dimitri_ that Felix feels his eyes burn with sudden emotion as he tangles his fingers in Dimitri’s hair and kisses him like he’s going to die if he doesn’t. 

“Felix, oh, Felix,” Dimitri says, against his mouth, rough and hungry. “And here I thought you. Just had so many opinions about cucumbers.” 

Felix laughs. It’s maybe the first time he’s done it around Dimitri and meant it in -- years, at this point. Since before Duscur, when he watched Dimitri’s carriage ride off into the distance bringing back the broken shell of the boy he’d loved his whole life and no longer knew. 

“Felix?” 

“Ah.” Felix shoves his face into Dimitri’s neck and breathes. He can’t stop thinking about Kyphon and Loog. That line about Loog valuing Kyphon’s loyalty, his sword, even through the dark days where they’d lost each other. Maybe that’s what it really meant -- not that they’d lose their way, but that they’d find their way back to each other. 

Felix pulls his face out of Dimitri’s neck and takes his face in his hands. “I’m sorry I let you get lost.” 

Dimitri looks - turned on and bewildered, still holding Felix against the wall with his ridiculous strength, still as gentle as he’s now able to be since his ghosts have gone back to whatever dark pit spawned them in the first place. “You couldn’t have stopped it, Felix. As you always tell me, the past is what it is.” 

“I know.” Felix breathes out, slow and shaky. “I won’t lose you to this war, Dimitri. Not after I found you again.” 

“You won’t,” Dimitri agrees. “I wish to speak with her. End this properly. I -- well. Now isn’t the time for this. I would have this moment be about us. Not the war, or even El.” 

El? The nickname is surprising, and digs at an old memory of Dimitri telling some story about a girl and a dagger, but he pushes it aside as Dimitri kisses him again. 

He lets it go, along with the anger, and lets himself feel the strong press of Dimitri’s body against his own, the hard cock pressing into his stomach, the way Dimitri can’t stop making these desperate little sounds against Felix’s mouth while they’re kissing. The pleased groan that pulling his hair gets out of him. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Felix says, because it seems like he should say that, maybe. He pulls Dimitri’s hair. “I waited for you for so long that I missed figuring it out.” 

“Mmm.” Dimitri shifts Felix up a bit so he can mouth at his neck. Felix feels him smile, shivers at the hot breath huffing against him as Dimitri laughs softly. “Perhaps we could consult a book.” 

He thinks about the one Ashe left him, and blinks up at the ceiling. “Do you want me to kiss your -- your scepter?” 

Oh, Goddess. He said that. Out loud. 

Dimitri pulls back and blinks his one good eye at Felix. “My -- my what.” 

Felix, horrified, simply closes his own eyes to block out the image of Dimitri staring at him like he’s gone mad. There. “Nothing.” 

“Did you say my -- my scepter? Were you talking about my lance? Areadbhar?” 

“I’m not asking to kiss your relic,” Felix says, reasonably. It comes out like a growl. A reasonable one. 

“I’m very confused,” Dimitri says. 

Felix kisses him again, shoving his tongue in Dimitri’s mouth and grinding against the hard press of Dimitri’s cock. “It -- was in a book about our ancestors, will you please be quiet?” 

“I -- our ancestors?” Dimitri sounds bewildered more than anything, which means they’re moving backward, wonderful. “Yours and mine, personally?” 

“Ashe gave me a book about Loog and Kyphon,” Felix says, to Dimitri’s collarbones. “There was a scene, where. Where Kyphon knelt and kissed Loog’s scepter.” 

“I was not aware any king of Faerghus had a scepter,” says Dimitri. 

“Pretty sure they all did, or you wouldn’t be here,” says Felix. 

“I - oh. _Oh_. That book.” 

Felix blinks. Twice, then three times. He pulls back to look at Dimitri, wide-eyed. “Wait. What?” 

“Yes, I read that. With the, ah, arrow- wound sucking. It was -- my father had a copy. I distinctly recalled reading it before -- ah. Well. I’m surprised you hadn’t seen it yourself, considering….” Dimitri trails off. “Perhaps we should stop talking, again.” 

Felix pulls at his hair, lightly. “No. Finish your sentence. Considering what?” 

“Your father, Felix. He gave it to mine.” 

_You know what else your father used to do with King Lambert after they argued in council, right?_

Felix laughs. And then he laughs again. “Dimitri,” he says, kissing him. “Put me down.” 

Dimitri does, immediately. Felix pushes him away, then ducks around and pushes him so that _Dimitri_ has his back to the wall. “I’m not doing this because I have to. It has nothing to do with fealty. I’m doing it because I want to.” He says it like a challenge, staring at Dimitri. “Do you understand that, Boar?” 

Dimitri just nods, then stops, and says, “Well, yes and...no? Doing what, precisely, Felix? Shoving me against a wall?” 

Felix decides it’s easier to show him. He drops to his knees, and reaches shaking fingers up to undo the laces on Dimitri’s trousers. 

“Oh,” Dimitri says, a little weakly. He reaches down to thread his fingers through Felix’s hair, gently, sighing in pleasure as his cock is freed. “You -- it isn’t -- ah, Felix --” 

Felix doesn’t know what he’s doing, really, but it’s not as if the mechanics are complicated. He takes Dimitri’s very sizeable cock in his hand and leans in, mouths over the swollen head, heat pooling low in his stomach as Dimitri moans. It’s awkward and a bit messy, and Felix is determined to make it good because he hates not doing things well, so he stares up at Dimitri to gauge his reactions while he sucks and licks his cock, trying various angles, taking him deep enough that he chokes, once. 

Dimitri looks - beautiful, there’s really no other word for it. His head is knocking back against the wall, and his hair is in his face, his mouth parted and his good eye closed. He’s gasping and his hips are moving like he can’t quite help himself, and he’s petting Felix’s hair wildly, fingers flexing occasionally on the back of Felix’s head. 

“Felix, that’s -- oh, yes, _yes_ \--” 

Pleased, Felix hums around his cock and slides his mouth forward a bit more. He drops his other hand and rubs over his own cock, but he doesn’t want to get distracted from what he’s doing. He pulls back and stares up at Dimitri, catching his breath, using his hand while he does it. “Do you like it?” 

“I -- of course, you look so lovely, there, on your knees for me,” Dimitri says, with a low rumble in his voice that makes Felix’s cock throb. “And yes, it feels good, so good, but I don’t. Felix, I --” 

Felix knows where this is going, so he smacks Dimitri on the thigh. “Don’t you dare tell me you don’t deserve this, or to feel pleasure. I decided you deserve both, and you don’t get to argue with me about it.” 

“I’ll -- ah, remember that. When we talk about -- supplies and -- oh, yes -- cucumbers, and _Goddess_ \--” 

Felix pulls off again. “It was never really about cucumbers, Dimitri.” 

Dimitri tilts his chin down, and Felix shivers, just a bit; there’s a little of the beast still there, he can see it in the glint of Dimitri’s eye, the curve of his mouth, and maybe that’s all right. It isn’t as if Felix, himself, doesn’t have his own sharp edges, his own hands aren’t quite as bloody but they’re still so very far from clean. 

But then Dimitri smiles, and _laughs_ , like the boy he used to be, once, back when they were both like the ceremonial swords back in Felix’s room; pretty things that didn’t understand what all their edges were for, or what they’d one day have to do with them. “It was about my...scepter?” 

And Felix, who is caught between pressing his face against Dimitri’s thigh and weeping over the boys they’ll never be again and also hitting him for that terrible joke...says, “Yes, exactly, good,” and takes Dimitri’s cock back in his mouth. All the way, at least as much as he can, as if the pleasure he’s giving can blunt the pain of what the world’s done to them both. 

It doesn’t take long for Dimitri to come, hunched over, his fingers a little too tight in Felix’s hair in a way that makes Felix nearly rub himself to orgasm in his pants. He’ll deal with that revelation later, but for now...he settles his hands on Dimitri’s lean hips and tips his head back, watching as he best can as Dimitri shudders through his peak. His good eyelid flutters, his gasps sound like music and Felix swallows reflexively and doesn’t miss how it pulls another sigh from Dimitri when he does it. 

He barely has a moment to catch his breath before he’s bodily hauled up and kissed to within an inch of his life, Dimitri’s mouth eager and hot, his tongue licking the taste of himself from Felix’s mouth. His hands are tight around Felix’s upper arms, fingers digging into the muscle there. Felix doesn’t mind. 

He kisses back, then makes an undignified sort of yelp as Dimitri once again presses him to the wall and keeps kissing him while he reaches down, hand fumbling to press against Felix’s cock through his pants. “Let me -- ah, polish your --” 

“No,” Felix says, pulling his hair. Hard. “Dimitri. _No_.”

“You don’t want me to…?” 

“Of course I want you to -- it’s the, the weapon metaphor I don’t want --” 

“You? I’m surprised to hear that,” Dimitri says, voice full of amusement and such unguarded affection that it makes Felix’s throat tight, the tide of dangerously strong emotion rising again, threatening to overwhelm him. 

“Just get me off,” Felix orders, and pulls Dimitri’s hair again because why not. 

“As you wish,” Dimitri murmurs, hand pushing down inside Felix’s pants. His callused fingers close around Felix’s cock and Felix moans into Dimitri’s mouth, hips shifting, already trying to fuck his fist. “You’re so eager,” Dimitri says, against his mouth. “I like it.” 

“Shh,” Felix hisses, trembling, already on edge. Dimitri is...everywhere, surrounding him, his big body and his stupid voice all low and rough in Felix’s ear. “You -- ah, Dimitri.” 

“I love hearing you say my name,” Dimitri says, pressing a kiss beneath Felix’s ear. “I’ve wanted to for so long. To hear it just like that, Felix. You sound so beautiful like this.” 

“ _Shhh_ ,” Felix says, again, desperate. He doesn’t mean it, and of course Dimitri knows that. They’ve always known each other too well, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s hard to lie to someone when you can see the truth of them, bright as the sun even hidden by clouds. 

“I want to fuck you,” Felix says. “Ah, not -- not _now_ ,” he adds, when Dimitri actually moves like he’s going to carry Felix to the _archbishop’s bedroom_. “Not the day before...not when we’re at war. When it’s over. I want to fuck you so you’re sobbing from how good it feels. So you know how I -- think you're worth it --” 

He can’t talk, after that. Not because the words aren’t there -- they are, for once -- but because Dimitri won’t let him, kissing him so frantically that Felix can barely breathe. It makes his orgasm, when it comes, crash into him like a polearm against his shield, and he cries out into Dimitri’s eager mouth and comes all over them both in shuddering pulses, hips frantically pushing forward as he thinks about doing it, fucking Dimitri senseless and making him finally understand that Felix loves him, and always has. 

Always will. 

His legs are shaking by the time Dimitri lowers him to his feet, after a weak smack on the arm and a mumbled _put me down_. He leans back against the wall and catches his breath, watching as Dimitri tries gallantly to clean them both up with the tails of his untucked shirt. 

“I,” says Felix, softly, caught by the way Dimitri is looking at him, like he’s something precious. Like he really is a cactus flower. 

Dimitri presses his fingers to Felix’s mouth. “Tell me when this is over. I’ll say it back, I swear to you, but let it be the future, Felix. Not the past.” 

Felix thinks about what Dedue said, about the parts the stories never tell. The unwritten future. He nods, takes Dimitri’s wrist and presses Dimitri’s hand to his own racing heart. “I will. When this is over. I swear it.” 

The sun pours in the stained glass window, the colors brightening up the hallway and haloing Dimitri like the king he is. Dimitri isn’t Loog and Felix isn’t Kyphon, and those are all just stories, anyway. 

But maybe one day they’ll write a story about this. Felix, stalwart in his own way, dragging the King of Faerghus out of the dark by arguing about cucumbers and horses and a thousand other things until Dimitri had no choice but to finally go where Felix was trying so hard to lead. 

A good story. Maybe it’ll help two idiots figure out how to kiss each other, in some far-off future when they’re dead and buried and all of this becomes the history they’re trying to make. 

Felix grabs Dimitri’s shoulder. “Dimitri. I am never kissing your spear. Ever.” 

“Probably for the best,” Dimitri says, smoothing Felix’s hair out of his face. He smiles, and he might never be the boy Felix fell in love with years ago, but Felix finally admits he can love the man Dimitri has become, darkness and all. “You don’t know where that thing’s been.” 

His jokes, though. That might be another matter.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/dustofwarfare) if you like! I'm friendly!


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